Pass the Book
by Tess90
Summary: House tries to get out of something he doesn't want to do.


Ok, this is pretty random, yes, but it was a thought that occured to me...well, because i was hyper. See what will happen if you consume too much sugar before bed!

* * *

"Ow!" yelled Chase.

House sniggered from inside his office, chuckling to himself as Chase's hand flew up to cover his eye. House had just chucked a particularly nasty piece of wadded-up paper into the hallway, managing to hit Chase's right eyeball.

Chase caught sight of House laughing through his one good eye and pointed at him angrily. "You are a menace." he said, shaking his head. House's only response was a large grin in his direction.

Chase, muttering under his breathe grumpily, continued shaking his head as he walked away. House reached over to his desk and grabbed another piece of paper. He thought he caught a glimpse of a sperm-donor information sheet as he crumpled it, but pretended not to notice. Cuddy would thank him later...for his rigorous and exhausting process of elimination.

"What do you think you're doing!" Cuddy breathed angrily. Somehow she had appeared at House's office door. Through the magic of teleportation, or perhaps a portal had opened up for a brief second right there, allowing Cuddy to walk directly out of her office, and into his…one could only guess.

"I'm helping you pick a donor!" House beamed, tossing the paper ball at her.

Cuddy, showing surprisingly quick reflexes, caught the ball in mid air. She glared at House as she un-crumpled it and looked at what was written on the creased paper.

"This one likes long walks on the beach and is an experienced outdoorsman." she exclaimed.

House shrugged, using his cane to hobble around the desk so he could sit in his comfy chair.

"It's a sperm bank, not a speed dating….hmm, what does one call a place where people gather to speed date?" he mused. "Is it a clinic? Or how about a speed dating meeting place. Is that too generic? It's important to be politically correct now. So, why is it still called speed dating. Shouldn't it be called Sitting-down-for-a-few-minutes-trying-to-get-to-know-a-person-in-the-given-amount-of-time-while-still-trying-to-make-a-good-impression-and-not-judge-them-due-to-any-momentary-impoliteness? In that case, would it be called a clinic? Nah…"

"House!' Cuddy yelled in exasperation.

House's eyes grew bigger in mock-fear. He pretended to shake as he rounded his desk. He got within a foot of Cuddy….half a foot….a few inches. Now he and Cuddy were practically nose to nose.

"Cuddy," he began seriously.

She looked at him, no…she _glared_ at him, expectantly.

House looked around to see if anyone was there, and whispered very quietly. "I must tell you something." he paused for a dramatic effect to take place. He cautiously peered around once more before continuing. "You…have garlic breath." he said loudly, before waltzing away gleefully.

Cuddy stared at him as he left, but once he was out of sight, she raised her hand to her mouth, and every so slightly breathed out. She sniffed quickly, before determining, she did indeed, have garlic breath…

* * *

"House!" Wilson called.

House was sitting quietly in the coma patient's room, watching TV, eating jello.

"House, I-"

"Shhh, it's the news!" he said, waving to the small TV near the top of the wall. He scooped out another spoonful of jello and raised it to his lips. He thought for a moment before offering it to Wilson. "Want some? It's lime!" he grinned.

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "Uh…no thanks. House, were you telling Cuddy that I was hitting on nurses?"

House grinned mischievously. "Perhaps…"

"She said that you told her I was flirting with Yolanda someone or other, who happened to tell Cuddy that she was going to file a sexual harassment claim if I didn't stop."

"Oh, right…I remember that." House said casually, eating more jello.

"Well…uh…I don't." he said. "So why don't you tell me what 'I' did to make Yolanda threaten with a lawsuit."

"'You' whistled at her after she came out of the women's locker rooms, oh and, uh…you might have _accidentally_ grabbed her a-"

"Ahh. Well would you tell Cuddy _and_ Yolanda that er…'I'm' very sorry." Wilson said, in his usual calm manner.

House shrugged.

But, knowing the things that House was likely to do, or not do, unless you practically bound and gagged him and forced him to sign some type of promissory note, Wilson persisted.

"House." he said, raising his voice slightly.

House spooned out the last of the jello, eyes still glued to the screen. He made no sound.

"House." Wilson said, slightly louder than last time.

House turned to him very slowly, as if he were a creepy doll in a horror movie who had the somewhat disturbing talent to rotate his head in a complete 360 degree circle. His eyes were blank and vacuous.

"Are you going to tell Cuddy, or will I have to er…accidentally sign you up for extra clinic hours this month?" Wilson said, the trace of a small smile on his face.

"You wouldn't!" House said quickly, abandoning his zombie charade.

Wilson's smile widened. "I would." he said quietly.

House scowled at him for a moment. "Fine, I'll tell Cuddy."

* * *

House was on his way down the hallway. He tapped his cane on the floor as he went, moving at an almost painfully slow pace. He had agreed to tell Cuddy, but he hadn't said he would do it right away.

"House." Cameron's voice called out behind him.

He turned around and found her standing there with a stack of paper. She held it out toward him, clearly expecting him to take it.

House narrowed his eyes as he approached her cautiously, going even slower than he just had been. "What?" he asked, suspiciously.

"Here." She said, thrusting it further toward him.

House took the papers and read the top page. "A Light from Above." He said, raising one eyebrow. "What's this?"

"The book you agreed to proof-read and review." She said, as though this should clarify it.

When House didn't say anything, she explained further. "You know, the patient is room 340 wrote it. You agreed to read it for him last week at the charity ball."

House groaned. "Man, I've got to stop drinking at those things." He said.

Cameron rolled her eyes and gave him one of her famous Allison-Cameron-deeply-disapproves looks as she left him standing there, holding the book.

House continued along the hall, moving slowly, now carrying a stack of papers, weighing more than it probably should, until he arrived at Cuddy's office.

"Cuddy, how would you like to proof-read a book for a dying man?" he asked her casually, attempting to keep a cheery voice.

Cuddy snorted. "Forget it. You got yourself into that one, you can get yourself out. Now, I hear you have some explaining to do."

Five minutes and several unpleasant names later, House emerged from Cuddy's office, still carrying the book. He wandered down the hall, in the general direction of his office, wondering how to get rid of it. Suddenly, an ingenious idea struck him.

"Who else was drinking?" he thought aloud.

Of course! Chase had been! He had been plastered, just as House had. Actually, it was a miracle House remembered anything about that night considering the amount of alcohol he has consumed.

He quickened his pace, going the opposite direction now.

"Chase!" he called. "Chase!"

The blonde haired doctor turned around at the sound of his name. Seeing it was House, however, he turned back the other way and continued walking. House caught up to him and handed him the book.

Chase looked at him quizzically. "What am I supposed to do with this?' he asked.

"Don't you remember?" House said. "You agreed to proof-read this for the patient in room 304."

Chase scratched his head. "I did?"

House nodded fervently. He was grinning on the inside. "Last week, at that charity thing."

Sometimes his own brilliance could amaze even him.

"Uh…" was all Chase could say.

"You better get started." House told him seriously. "It looks pretty long."

"Man," Chase moaned, "I've got to stop drinking at those things."


End file.
